Fight
by Sagethorn
Summary: It is a true honor, a reward. The few who are chosen serve to the highest degree. They are the fighters, the killers, the ones sent on missions no normal cat could accomplish. Their training is vicious, their safety unconcerning, and the fear they get from their own clanmates is just part of the job. But don't worry, they don't mind. How could they, when they serve such an honor...
1. Chapter 1

**[Author's Note: Hello people of fanfiction. Here I am with yet another story (Yes, I know I can barely even keep up with the ones I have currently, but I came up with this awesome idea and I want it published, so don't judge me). Anyway! If the summary doesn't make sense, don't worry: I'll explain it all in good time, my friends. The clans in this story are OC: PineClan, BlizzardClan, RockClan, and MossClan. Their territory is sort of an arctic, rocky area. This is rated T for awesome, bloody violence, but nothing too creepily extreme. Enjoy!]**

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In the shadows of the nursery, in the early hours of the morning, a cream-colored she-cat lay exhausted on a thin bed of shredded moss. Her eyes were closed but a sliver of green showing through, and her chest rose and fell feebly as she recovered from her ordeal.

Curled against her side, three kits lay suckling contentedly, kneading their mother's soft belly with their paws. One was a pale orange tabby she-kit, with stripes so faint they were barely noticeable. The second was another she-kit, as black as night with a tiny smudge of silver on her small nose. The third was almost identical to his tabby sister, but was at least twice her size, an almost abnormally large kit.

Two figures stood over the mother, their faces shadowed by the darkness of the den. One of them had stormy blue eyes that were hard and determined, and was watching the kits with a serious expression. The other had orange eyes that, while while remaining a buisness-like gleam, seemed more relaxed and pleased by the warm den with the scent of milk and the squeaks of the kittens.

"Very good, Lightpelt." The orange-eyed cat said mildly to the queen. "Three healthy little furballs."

"She can't hear you, Patchheart." The first, blue-eyed cat sighed. "She's obviously unconscious. Probably just passed out from exhaustion." A paw prodded the she-cat's side, and through her last sliver of awareness, she felt it, but was too weak to respond.

"Very nice kits, though, aren't they?" Patchheat remarked. "The clan will benefit from cats like them very well."

"Of course. Lightpelt has borne a good litter. Strong, healthy, handsome." The blue-eyed cat agreed. "A shame their father can't see them, I suppose."

"Yes, Mountainclimb's demise was rather tragic, wasn't it? And when she was barely a moon from giving birth." The orange-eyed cat's voice was tinged with regret.

"Yes, that cougar attack was very unexpected. But he died a warrior's death." The blue-eyed cat said briskly, turning back to the kits. "Look at that one, Patchheart. The tabby."

"Which one?"

"The huge one, idiot. Look at that frame. He's going to grow up enormous. And muscular. Look at those shoulders, and those paws!" Blue-eyes sounded rather impressed.

"Wonder where he got it from?" Patchheart contemplated. "Not his mother, she's a little thing. And Mountainclimb was built like a she-cat."

"Perhaps his grandfather. Appleclaw was well-built." The first cat suggested. "Really, though, look at that kit! Positively marvelous. He'll be a candidate, won't he?"

"For sure, Greystar." Patchheart agreed immediately. "I think more than a candidate."

Greystar purred rustily. "Oh, I agree. I think you may be looking at PineClan's new_ pugna_."

The she-cat laying on the ground in front of them barely heard the threads of those words in her half-consious state, but it was enough to send ice rushing through her veins. _Oh, please no. Please no._

"Indeed." Patchheart leaned forward to the tiny kit still sucking in the rich milk. "It is an honor, kitten." He whispered in its velvety ear. "A true honor."

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**[Author's Note: Yay for short first chapters! No, really, the chapters will probably be longer than this, but I thought this might be a nice start to this fic. FYI: The name _pugna_ is Latin for 'fight/battle' (Thank you, Google Translate), hence this story's title and will make sense later. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease REVIEW! :3]**


	2. Chapter 2

"Catch, Applekit!" The orange tabby cried as he kicked the piece of bark to his similar-looking sister.

The smaller tabby leaped up and caught it between her paws, clamping her teeth down on it and biting its 'throat', giving it a few shakes for good luck.

"Ha!" She cried triumphantly. "That's what you get, you mangy fox, for trying to mess with PineClan!" She kicked the murdered scrap of tree bark away in mock disgust.

The plaything landed a few inches away from their jet-black sister, who jumped in the air and squeaked in surprise.

"Stupid curs!" She spat at the other two kits.

Their mother slid out of the nursery in time to catch her daughter's curse. She swatted the kit over the ear, causing her to yelp.

"Nightkit! We don't use language like that, especially not to your own siblings! Apologize to Applekit and Whisperkit." Lightpelt ordered.

Nightkit scuffed her paw across the dirt, sniffing. "Sorry." She mumbled half-heartedly.

"You don't sound sorry." The orange tabby tom replied.

"You always throw things at me or trample me playing your stupid games!" Nightkit retorted bitterly.

"Well you never play with us!" Applekit argued.

Nightkit started to reply but was cut of by a sniffle and then, "Ah-ah-tchoo!"

Lightpelt swept her tail around her black kit and turned back to the other two. "Your sister is sick." She reminded them harshly. "Go play where you aren't bothering her. She can't get better having bits of bark throw in her face every heartbeat."

"She's been sick for, like, moons!" Applekit squeaked. "When will she get better already? She sneezes in her sleep and it's annoying."

Nightkit tried to say something but was once again cut of by a huge sneeze, and then another and another.

"She'll get better when she gets better." Lightpelt said tautly. "Now go play somewhere else." With that she led her black kitten back into the nursery.

Applekit rolled her eyes and shoved her brother. "Hey, Whisperkit. Let's go to the fresh-kill pile. Maybe if there's no warriors there we can get a real victim, not a stupid piece of tree bark." Her pale golden eyes sparkled mischievously.  
Whisperkit gave her a toothy grin and they both scampered ahead to get themselves in as much trouble as they desired.

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Back in the nursery, Lightpelt sighed as she settled Nightkit down into the pathetically thin nest. It was only mid-Leaffall, but the frost had already come, and several times the clan would wake up to find the entire territory dusted in snow. There was scarcely any moss to be found, and what they could find was frost-bitten and wet with snow-melt.

Nightkit gave a weak sniffle and a loud sneeze before sighing and slipping into an uncomfortable sleep, shivering all the while. Her glossy black fur was concerningly thin, her pink skin showing through the light covering of black fuzz.

Lightpelt resisted the urge to call for Bouncefoot, knowing the blue-furred medicine cat would not be able to do anything for her other than give her a sip of water and a poppy seed or two. He had some herbs, but not many, and he had already given her a few. The rest had to be conserved for the graver sicknesses Leafbare would bring.

When they had been born, all three kits were healthy and strong. When she finally awoke the day after kitting them, she had a vague remembrance of the _pugna_ talk the night before, and while she wasn't sure if it had been real or a dream, she named the powerful tom Whisperkit, clinging to a shred of hope that Greystar would never choose a _pugna_ with such a weak name.

Whisperkit's nearly-identical sister was named after her grandfather, Lightpelt's mate's father, who had died two years ago from a Greencough outbreak. So far, Applekit was showing to be a spunky and lively cat, even if she was the smallest, and she was strong-willed and a bit sly. Lightpelt pitied whoever her poor mentor would be!

Nightkit had shown all the characteristics of growing up to be a good cat. She was large, though not as large as Whisperkit, and her legs had been becoming long and lithe. She was talkative and curious.

But then, when she was scarcely two moons old and had only been out of the nursery three times, the sickness struck. It started with just a few coughs and a stray sniffle here and there, which was hardly rare in the chilly weather. Bouncefoot had given her a scrap of tansy and that was that.

But it wasn't. For a quearter-moon, the symptoms were gone. Nightkit led a normal, mischievous kit life. Then, suddenly, it was back. This time, the sniffling increased, and the coughs, while not coming as often, sounded raw and painful. And now she would break into sneezing fits as well, sometimes for so long that she was panting when they ended.

Lightpelt tried not to panic. Maybe it was allergies. She removed the moss from the den and replaced it with foxgrass, the long brown grass that grew in the fields, desperately hoping that would fix it. It didn't. The sneezing and sniffing continued, and now she shivered, too, because foxgrass was hardly warm. The moss was replaced and Lightpelt felt free to panic at that point.

Nightkit sniffled again and sneezed in her sleep, "Ah-tchoo!" Lightpelt padded over and stroked the kit's flank, murmuring soft reassurances. "You'll be okay. It's okay."

It's okay.

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**[Author's Note: Next chapter up soon. Please review; I love feedback.]**


	3. Chapter 3

**[Author's Note: Good morning, everyone. Here's chapter three. Next chapter we'll be getting into the good stuff.]**

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"How many times do you have to be told? Prey is not a toy."

Applekit's eyes flickered to her brother and she tried not to roll them as a warrior, Blueclaw, lectured them on and on.

"We only took a vole, Blueclaw." Whisperkit cut in. "It was mostly skin and bones. Barely even a mouthful on it."

Blueclaw's paw cuffed the tabby across his head, sending him bowling over. "That's a mouthful that should have gone to one of the warriors who's spent their time catching food for the clan, not left to be ruined by two idiot kits with no respect for animals that died for their clan." Blueclaw's green eyes blazed. "Do you know how hard it is to catch prey in weather this cold? Do you know how many more cats will have to go hungry because you decided to get our well-caught food covered in dirt?"

"It's okay, Blueclaw." Interjected a raspy voice. Blueclaw whipped around to see an elderly white tom staggering over, wincing on his stiff legs. He sat down uncomfortably and pulled the mouse towards him with a paw. "I'll eat it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Wingsplash." Blueclaw snapped. "You don't need to eat that filthy piece of crowfood. I'm sure these lovely kits will enjoy that pleasure, and you can have something fresh."

Wingsplash shook his graying muzzle. "I'd like this." He said rustily, but forcefully. He rolled the vole towards him and picked it up carefully.

Blueclaw opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. He nodded to Wingsplash, then gave each of the kits a quick swat on the ear before stalking off.

"What a grump!" Applekit exclaimed, licking her paw and rubbing her sore ear. "C'mon, Whisperkit, let's go back to the nursery."

But Whisperkit had already cast a sideways glance at Wingsplash, and his tiny kit conscience winced at the sight of the noble elder nibbling at the bony vole, struggling not to gag at the dirt that caked it.

He padded over slowly, head down. "I'm sorry, Wingsplash." He mumbled, unable to meet the cat's gaze. "I'll take the vole back and eat it. You can have one of the sparrows on the pile."

To the kit's surprise, the vole was not flung with disgust at his feet. Instead, he heard a raspy chuckle, and then a rusty meow, "Why would I do that? I wanted vole. If I didn't, I wouldn't have taken it. You can have a sparrow if you'd like." The sounds of chewing restarted.

Whisperkit finally worked up the nerve to look into the elder's eyes. They were blue, but foggy, almost like glass orbs filled with mist. His fur was shaggy and his legs were short but thin. A bit of blood from the vole stained his white fur.

"I'm sorry we got mud on it." Whisperkit murmured, and was aware of his sister creeping up next to him.

"Yeah, sorree." Applekit squeaked.

Wingsplash sighed and tore at the last bit of meat on the vole's bones. "Well, I accept it. And I hope StarClan does, too. Remember, respecting prey is part of our warriors code. Those are our laws, and they're there for a reason. They aren't there for kits to break them for a cheap thrill."

"Yes, Wingsplash." Both kits said at once. They started to turn away.

"Now wait a second, young'ns." Wingsplash rasped behind them. "I got you out of trouble, the least you can do is stay around a bit until I finish this vole."

Applekit rolled her eyes and audibly sighed, but Whisperkit was already complying, turning back to the ragged white tom. He sat down in front of him and stared expectantly at the elder. But all Wingsplash did was take another leisurely bite of prey.

Whisperkit's kit-length attention span was ticking away. He shuffled his paws and coughed, sighed, then finally turned back to Wingsplash. "Are we going to talk or anything?"

Wingsplash didn't even blink. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Tell us a story!" Applekit yelped from next to her brother. "You prolly' have some good ones, right? You're the oldest elder in the clan!"

"Blunt, aren't we?" Wingsplash deadpanned under his breath. Then he straightened up and licked his lips. "Of course I have stories. What do you think elders are good for? If we couldn't tell stories, we wouldn't even be kept in the clan. It's practically our purpose."

Applekit flicked her tail in anticipation. "Tell one from a long time ago!"

Wingsplash purred. "Oh, a long time ago? Well, here's something to think about. I was around before, well, all of this was."  
Both kits blinked slowly.

"Right, that probably didn't make sense. What I mean, is, I was around when the clans lived somewhere totally different. It was a huge forest, with fields scattered on the fringes, and a wide stream cutting through. The clans were called different things. I lived in what was once TreeClan."

"Was that what PineClan was called?' Applekit interjected.

Wingsplash sighed and scratched an ear. "To be honest, no. The clans didn't keep together. We had disaster after disaster in the Big Move. Cats were starving, freezing, plunging off cliffs to their deaths. Apprentices or young warriors would get bored and wander off to explore, then never come back, lost in the wilderness forever. Some cats even rebelled. Said they were sick of this, that we were going nowhere, that we were wandering in circles. They formed their own little packs and left. It happened a few times. I remember one group said they were going back to the old territories. I don't know what came of any of them. So, when we finally made it to our destination, the 'clans' were in total disarray. Some couldn't even remember their clan, or had fallen in love with a cat from a different clan. So we scattered, split up, formed the clans you know now."

"Cool." Whisperkit mewed.

"Super cool. I wonder if Mom remembers the Big Move?" Applekit pondered.

Wingsplash gave a laugh that came out as a rusty snort. "Don't kid yourselves. I was barely out of kithood when the Big Move happened. Your mother wasn't even close to born yet. Perhaps your mother's mother remembered it, but she would have probably been a kit back then."

"So it was a really really long time ago, huh?" Applekit asked. She had stopped squirming boredly and was now settled into a posture of wide-eyed interest.

"Very long time ago." Wingsplash sighed, his misty eyes growing faint as his mind traveled back to that distant past, full of paw-sore journeying and death of loved ones and frost-bitten confusion.

"Why did the clans move in the first place?" Whisperkit squeaked, snapping the Elder back to the present.

"Hmm? Well, like I said, I was just an apprentice back then, so it's hard for me to remember specifics. I do recall something very bad happening, some beast that wreaked havoc on the territories. It killed some cats, and then a brave group of warriors from my old clan went after it. They killed it, or so they said, but scarcely a moon later cats were getting murdered by what patrols described as the same creature. After it slaughtered two leaders and a deputy, well, we didn't have a choice but to run for it."

"Wow." Both kits breathed, in fascinated horror.

"I don't want to give you all nightmares now." Wingsplash chuckled raspily. "Nothing like that would ever happen now. Technically, we live now in an area much more suited for bobcats and cougars and wolves and bears and all sorts of unsavory creatures, but after what happened before, we had to have a solution devised." And here the Elder's foggy eyes darkened slightly. "The _pugnas_."

"_Pugnas_?" Applekit rolled the unfamiliar word off her tongue. "Is that like a Warrior?"

"No...not exactly." Wingsplash sighed. "Think of it as, well, a whole different rank."

"Like a special kind of Warrior?" Whisperkit suggested.

Wingsplash's shaggy white head shook slowly. "No, no. You're missing the point. Maybe you're too young to understand this..."

"No, I get it." Applekit insisted proudly. "It's not a Warrior, or an Apprentice, or a Deputy or Leader, right? It's something different."

"That's closer." Wingsplash nodded in approval. "Anyway, they were what we created to make sure nothing like last time very happened again."

"What do they do?" Whisperkit mewed in awe.

Wingsplash looked around unsurely. "I don't think kits as young as you are supposed to learn about _pugnas_ yet. When you're Apprentices, your mentors will teach you." And with that, he nodded, scraped some dirt over the remains of his prey, and padded away on unsteady legs back to his den.

"Huh." Whisperkit huffed. "I don't want to wait until I'm an apprentice."

"Oh well." Applekit said flippantly, getting to her paws. "The Elder's are just grouches anyway. I'm sure someone else would tell us if we asked. Let's go, Whisperkit. It's getting late. Mom will want us back." And she flicked her brother's ear with her tail before bouncing back to the Nursery.

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But no one else would tell them anything. Everyone they asked, from their mother to the senior Warriors to the Deputy himself would either avoid the question with an awkward change of subject or ignore the kits entirely. _Pugnas_, it seemed, would remain a strange mystery for another few moons.

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**[Author's Note: Thank you for reading and please don't forget to leave a review! :3]**


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